


A Light In His Darkness

by childofthemuses



Series: Drifters & Gliders [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Allura/Romelle - Freeform, Anxiety, Bar, Big Brother Shiro (Voltron), Depression, Drink Spiking, Established Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fairy AU, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Laith, Leith - Freeform, Lotor is a Creep, Lotor keeps grabbing Lance when he pushes him away, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Oops, Shadam, Sunsets, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wings AU, adashi, chaotic gays, cute moments under the stars, just a little, klance, rolurra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofthemuses/pseuds/childofthemuses
Summary: Lance feels broken, and Keith is a sad boy who drinks alone.Life gets a bit more interesting for them both when they run into each other at a bar - literally.A sort of fairy/winged AU.





	A Light In His Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this sort of started out as a crack fic, but I'm actually strangely proud of it?  
> So this is sort of like a fairy-world au where different types of fairies are categorised by their style of wings and markings on their skin. E.g. butterflies will have big colourful wings like a butterfly, Bees have rounded clear wings and spiralling patterns of black and yellow 'tattooing' their skin etc.  
> Then these subsets of fae are divided into two groups: Daydrifters (i.e. bugs that are active during the day) and Nightgliders (i.e. bugs active at night). The two groups don't necessarily get along a lot of the time...  
> I really like this AU and am really tempted to do some other oneshots to expand the world in the future. 
> 
> Anyway, I will leave you to get reading. Hope you enjoy!

The place was busy and it made his gut curl with unease.

He just wanted a quiet drink - why were all these drifters here? The bar was one of those sketchy-looking places cloaked in thick shadow, the door heavy with peeling dark paint. Daydrifters usually steered clear, drawn to the clubs with flashing lights and pounding music.

They liked vibrancy.

Keith couldn’t disagree strongly enough.

He raised his whisky and coke to his lips, feeling the burn in his throat as he took a gulp. All the bustling bodies around were making him antsy, shoulders straining as he drew his wings in close to his back. He regretted taking his usual seat at the bar because now he was surrounded as fae pressed forwards to shout their orders over the din of voices, but it was too late to move now: if he gave up this seat he would be left to stand awkwardly and avoid wandering eyes, glass clutched in tense fingers. Better to sit and bear it, drowning his unease in whisky: stare down at the ice bobbing in his glass and let his mind wander.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder sending a jolt down his spine, his drink spilling slightly as his hand shook from the force. He levelled his new guest with a glare, ensuring his scowl was set heavily in place.

Shiro’s mischievous eyes sparkled at him, biting his lip to keep from laughing at Keith’s expression. “Come here often?” The butterfly teased with a waggling brow.

“Just enjoying a drink _. In peace_ ,” Keith warned, shifting his attention back to the bar.

Another butterfly appeared, sticking close to Shiro’s side. He looked at Keith apologetically, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Sorry Keith,” Adam said genuinely, “I tried to stop him, but as soon as he spotted you he was gone.”

“It was funny!” Shiro defended.

“You’re a dick.” Adam looked at his boyfriend with a disapproving stare, but his voice held humour.

“Do you guys want to take your bickering somewhere else?” Keith was not in the mood for company: it had been a rough day, and he just wanted some peace and quiet. Not his older ’brother’ and his boyfriend, and certainly not all the drifters dancing and twirling with their shouting voices in his ear.

The bar tender came over and Shiro mouthed his order, eyeing Keith for a second before adding, “And whatever sourpuss here is drinking.”

“Make that a double,” Keith bit, draining his glass and putting it down with more force than he needed to. He could barely hear the sound of glass smacking granite over the noise around him.

“Want to talk about it?” Shiro pressed.

“Take a guess.”

At least his brother could tell when he was beat. He held his hands up in surrender before handing money over to the bartender. Shiro slid the whisky towards Keith. “You been here long?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, gladly taking the glass. “A couple of hours?” He paused, distantly recognising how rude he was being and tried to convince himself to be less bristly. “What are you two doing out? Surely you’re too old to be hitting the town.”

Shiro looked ready to retort against Keith’s smirk, but before he could say a word Adam had stepped in. “We’ve been out seeing a show,” He beamed, the red wine in his glass swirling precariously as he was jostled from behind. He grimaced, wings the same colour as his drink flapping in irritation against his back. “You sure know how to pick a good seat, Keith.”

“I wasn’t expecting company-” He started, hinting heavily, but Adam’s attention was gone, tugging on Shiro’s arm.

“A table, Shiro! A table!”

The two were gone in an instant, Shiro shooting him a look that said ‘ _you better stop being antisocial and come join us’._ The crowd swallowed them quickly, and Keith took a deep breath to compose himself.

He hadn’t seen Shiro in a while: he should probably go and join them. While he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to be impolite just because he had had a bad day.

Sighing he grabbed his drink and slipped to the ground from his tall chair, his dark wings tensed as fae flocked towards the empty gap in the bar. He wished he could wrap his unassuming black wings around himself and disappear from sight, safe from wandering eyes.

He had barely managed two shuffling steps before a body was banging into him, promptly spilling Keith’s full glass down his black t-shirt.

He scowled and plucked the sodden material from his chest, looking down in disgust. “Hey-”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Nervous hands were fluttering before Keith, seemingly searching for some way to help and completely at a loss at how to do so. Keith looked up with his patented glare, ready to tell the klutz to leave him alone.

The fae in front of him had the palest blue eyes Keith had ever seen, and for some reason he felt his vicious retort wilt and die on his tongue. He simply stood there, frozen, like an idiot, soaked shirt still held out between his thumb and index finger.

The guy who bumped into him reached through to the bar and grabbed a wad of black napkins, dabbing at Keith’s chest without a second thought. “I am so, so sorry,” He blabbered, voice flustered and cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Someone shoved into me from behind, and I lost my balance – I am so sorry!”

Coming back to himself, Keith gently pushed him and his nervous hands away, taking the napkins to dab at himself. “It’s fine,” He said, finding his voice to be oddly croaky.

The fae looked absolutely riddled with guilt. Keith’s eyes wandered over him: the short brown hair that simultaneously screamed both ‘effortless’ and ‘this took hours’, the light glitter that traced his cheeks and collar bones, the cropped blue top he wore that may as well have left him shirtless. And those eyes that kept drawing Keith in, leaving him speechless.

Keith didn’t know what he was: he was unlike any fae he had seen before. The guy was pretty enough to be a butterfly, but with those clear, delicate wings like paned glass at his back he knew that wasn’t right. With the light blue scales dotting his tanned skin, tracing up his arms and up his neck, Keith thought he was maybe a dragonfly? Or a damselfly – something about this guy just screamed ‘water’.

Keith just couldn’t work it out. But he had to admit the daydrifter was pretty.

“What are you drinking?” The fae asked, “I owe you another.”

“Like I said, it’s fine,” Keith finished rubbing at his shirt, knowing he wouldn’t be getting it much drier. “It was an accident.”

“Still-”

There was something about this guy Keith couldn’t put his finger on, something that drew him in despite himself. He liked to avoid conversation, avoid eye contact and stretching out interactions. But a part of him wanted to spend more time with this fae, to let himself fall down into the jewelled depths of those eyes.

All the alcohol must have gone straight to his brain.

“It’s okay,” He assured, stepping away from the fae, “Don’t worry about it.” He forced himself to leave, craning his neck to catch sight of Adam and Shiro nestled together in a corner by the door. He joined them, waving off Shiro’s probing questions about his damp shirt and missing drink. His brother grinned, clearly disappointed at having missed whatever had happened.

Those pale eyes were still in Keith’s mind, that look of embarrassment and the dusting of pink building beneath glitter.

He had turned away too quickly to catch sight of the fae’s face shifting into a frown. Despite what Keith had said, it was clear they were, in fact, going to worry about it.

*****

The four drinks hit the table three seconds before Lance’s forehead did. His hair falls forward, and he groans loudly.

His friends help themselves to a drink, taking long sips before giving in to his theatrics.

“What happened?” Hunk asked, setting his drink down gently.

“I’m an idiot,” Lance grumbled against the wood, letting himself hide from the world.

“We know,” Pidge assured him, and someone ruffled his hair.

“What seems to be the matter, my boy?” Coran cheerily asks him, a warm arm thrown out across his shoulders.

Lance simply groans again, the scene playing over in his head. How he had stood there, flapping uselessly and unable to stop himself saying ‘sorry’ over and over, how he-

“Lance,” Pidge said sternly, “If you don’t tell us right now, we’re moving past it and ignoring you the rest of the night.”

He sat up reluctantly, sitting his chin in his hand heavily. “Gee, Pidge, you know just what to say to get a guy to open up to you.”

They simply shrugged, attention drawn back to their drink, “You deserve the tough love.”

Lance sighed, hiding his face behind his hands. “I spilled a guy’s drink all over him,” He huffed.

“That’s not too-” Hunk tried to reassure him.

“He was _hot,_ ” Lance groaned. “Like, not just ‘hot’-hot, but like…hawt! And I spilled his full drink and then proceeded to babble uselessly in front of him while he was desperately trying to get rid of me.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, stirring their drink aimlessly.

“Oh gods,” A familiar voice said, two bodies dropping into seats at the table. Allura grinned slyly, “What’s happened? That’s Lance’s ‘just let the world end’ face.”

“I thought that was his ‘I’m an idiot’ face?” Romelle teased. The two giggled and leaned in to each other, and Lance scowled.

“Buzz off,” He snapped. “This is serious.”

“ _Deadly_ serious,” Pidge assured them, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Is it racist to tell a Bee to buzz off?” Romelle asked Allura with a raised brow, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

Allura pondered her girlfriend’s black and yellow ringed arms for a moment, the thin bands delicately adorning her forearms up to her shoulders. She shrugged, “I don’t think so, but if you want to be offended I will back you up.”

Romelle _melted,_ her eyes practically reconfiguring themselves into hearts. “Baaaabe,” She drawled, leaning forward to give Allura a peck on the cheek.

This time, Lance wasn’t the only one to groan.

“Eurgh,” Pidge grimaced. “I would rather hear more about Lance self-sabotaging his own love life than be trapped with all this ‘lovey-dovey’ crap.”

Allura stuck a tongue out at them but chose to sip from her drink rather than muster up a retort.

“Lance got flustered in front of a ‘hawt guy’,” Hunk caught the two girls up, using physical air quotes with his fingers, “And is currently dying from embarrassment.”

Lance looked up to the ceiling, avoiding everyone’s eye contact and crying, “Must you make me relive it!?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad Lance,” Allura tried to assure him, her accent drawing the ‘A’ out in his name so it sounded like ‘Lonce’.

“That’s what _I_ tried to tell him!” Hunk said.

“Don’t bother, guys,” Pidge smirked. “The pity party has officially left the station. Try and stop the train of thought he’s on now and you’ll just get flattened.’

“Why am I friends with you?” Lance grumbled, chin hitting the table and glaring up at Pidge.

“Hunk and I are a package deal.”

Lance stared accusingly at Hunk, who held his hands up innocently. “Sorry dude, there’s no avoiding team Punk.” Without looking he stretched his hand across the table to deliver a high-five to a patiently-waiting Pidge. They both burst into grins.

New question: why was he friends with any of these people?

“Well,” Allura butt in before Lance could burn all ties with his friends once and for all. “I hope you at least bought him a new drink.”

Her statement was met with resounding silence, Lance’s gaze skating away from hers guiltily. She hit her hand on the table, “ _Please_ tell me you are joking.”

“He wouldn’t let me!” Lance pled with her.

“Let me get this straight,” Romelle said with a calm voice, spreading her hands out on the table. “You ran into a hot guy, wasted his drink, stammered for a solid minute in front of him, then left?”

Lance could do nothing other than nod dejectedly.

The entire table erupted in a simultaneous groan, Allura smearing an aggravated hand down her face before pulling away with a look of horror, crying, “My eyeliner!”

“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got you,” Romelle said, pulling a make-up bag from what seemed like thin air and working on the black smudge smearing down Allura’s cheek.

“This reminds me of an old tale with the Scarab prince Juja when he was but a lad-” Coran started, eyes closed and finger pointed up as he began his lecture. The older man stopped as Hunk gently laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Realising now was not the time, Coran pulled at his vibrant moustache and hummed thoughtfully.

Lance took in his odd collection of friends and sighed. They were only here because of him – because his ‘love life’ truly had crashed and burned. It’s what he deserved for dating a butterfly that was too good to be true. Oh, but Nyma had been beautiful, capturing Lance’s heart in an instant with a bat of her eyelashes.

Before going on three dates with him and never calling again.

But his friends had offered to take him out – true daydrifters at heart, they rarely ventured out past sundown, but they could see how dejected he was and so had dragged him to a bar popular with other drifters looking for a night out.

As much as they drove him crazy, they really were very sweet to him.

Right on que, Hunk nudged his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Lance shrugged, “I’m alright.”

“You don’t seem alright,” Hunk said gently, looking at him with suspicion.

“Am I that bad at hiding it?”

“In your defence,” Allura said, “You don’t really get a choice in hiding your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed, “You’re looking off-colour.”

Lance glared at them: he took back what he said. Everyone at this table was very sweet to him, _except_ for the ladybird gremlin sipping their drink innocently in front of him. “That’s a low blow.”

“Sorry,” They said with a shrug, “What I meant was, you usually have such a glow about you.”

“ _Pidge-”_

“Oh, I’ve got one!” Romelle said excitedly, her wings buzzing against her back. She cleared her throat, drawing out the moment, “You look _delighted_ that we could all make it tonight!”

Allura nudged her girlfriend with a stern glare, swallowing down her snicker as Hunk cried, “A little compassion, guys!”

Lance shook his head with a small smile, “Nah, it’s alright, I get it.” He sighed, knowing their teasing came from a place of love, but their comments hit a little too close to home. They wanted to tease and riff with him like they usually would, but instead of wanting to good-naturedly bite back he just felt _raw._ He felt so cut off from the bustling scene around him: usually he would have caught several people attempting subtle looks from across the bar, but so far no one had paid him any mind. He was invisible.

Well, except to a guy he had dumped a drink over.

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder, and Lance found himself leaning into the touch. “You’ll get through this,” Hunk said encouragingly, clearly noticing that the teasing wasn’t having its desired effect.

Lance shrugged, not so hopeful, “It’s okay, big guy. Between Nyma and throwing drinks over people, I think it’s clear that I should retire from the dating game. Maybe get a cat, who knows.”

“And so begins the slow descent into crazy cat-lady territory,” Pidge proclaims loudly, holding their drink up in a mock toast, “I hope you and your hoard of felines are very happy together.”

Lance stuck a tongue out at them, yet surprises himself to find a genuine quirk of a smile on his lips. “We both know that if I got cats, you would never leave my house again.”

“What can I say, cats have a certain… aloofness you just can’t find amongst most people.” They fixed him with a pointed stare, smirking like a devil, “At least _cats_ are capable of sitting by your side _quietly.”_

Lance opened his mouth to retort, feeling more like himself as he allowed himself to take Pidge’s bait, but before he could say a word Romelle was squealing and dragging Allura to her feet with overly enthusiastic “Come on, come oooooonnnnn”s.

“This is her favourite song,” Allura hastily explained with a shrug as she allowed herself to be dragged away into the crowd.

Lance found himself laughing, finding himself standing on instinct. He flourished a hand towards Hunk, a waiting invitation, “Care to share this dance?”

Hunk grinned, relieved that his friend was acting more like himself. He grabbed the hand without a moment’s thought, “I thought you would never ask!”

Lance raised an eyebrow at Coran and Pidge, “You guys care to join?”

“No thank you!” Pidge said with a visible shudder. “I would rather not spend my time standing awkwardly in a cesspool of gyrating bodies filled with idiots who can’t understand why I’m not interested in them just because I’m a _lady_ bird.”

Lance rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, life’s an ironic bitch and all that. Coran?”

“No thanks, dear boy,” Coran smiled, “I’ll keep young Pidge here company. I suspect that this particular crowd wouldn’t be able to handle my moves.”

An image of Coran’s convulsing body inadvertently punching an innocent fae in the face last time he danced plays in Lance’s mind’s eye, and relief washes over him. “That may be for the best.”

Hunk and he make their way through the crowd, keeping a tight grasp on each other’s hands as they search for where Allura and Romelle have found a gap in the dancefloor.

It’s here that finally Lance feels comfortable in his own skin for the first time all week. Here he doesn’t need to worry or think, he can just close his eyes and let the music take him.

In the darkness behind his eyelids he feels his skin prickle, as though someone was watching him. Usually he would meet their eye, give a wink or a flirty smile, but that wasn’t what he was here for tonight. Without a moment’s hesitation he gives himself to the rhythm, and finally the voices of doubt in his head go silent.

*****

The pounding bass was starting to give Keith a headache and he inadvertently rubbed at his temple.

Shiro gave him a look. “Why do you come here?” He asked. “You’re clearly not enjoying yourself.”

“It’s not usually this busy,” He grumbled back, voice barely discernible over the music.

“My question is still valid.”

Keith subtly ignored him, luckily saved by Adam returning to the table with a new round of drinks. Keith graciously accepted his, resigned to his fate of having Shiro pester him as long as he had access to a supply of alcohol.

While Shiro still gave him that _look,_ he let the question drop as Adam started telling him about something. Keith let his mind wander, mulling over Shiro’s question despite himself.

_Why?_

_Why do you come here?_

_You’re clearly not enjoying yourself._

Why, indeed. Keith took a large gulp from the glass in front of him, swirling the too-cold liquid in his mouth to set his teeth complaining in a sensitive ache. He wasn’t sure when he had started _this,_ spending his free time outside work in some dead-end bar with whisky in his hand, his and the bartender’s conversations not extending beyond the odd nod of the head at each other.

People went to bars to meet people, but that’s not what Keith was looking for.

People went to bars to have fun, but that’s not what Keith felt when he was here.

Was he here just because he had nowhere else to go?

Besides Shiro – and to some extent, Adam – he didn’t really have any friends. He had acquaintances, he had colleagues, but no one he wanted to spend time with.

He was fine by himself.

_But was he really?_

The question hit him like a train, and he had to take a deep breath to centre himself again. Because…

Because…

If he was really fine by himself, why wasn’t he at home right now? He could be reading, or watching terrible TV – he could even be drinking alone and avoid paying the extortionate bar prices.

Yet he got changed and headed to this bar, yet again, to sit quietly and mind his own business.

He had had a bad week at work: Antok had chewed him out _multiple_ times for snowballing issues that were out of his control. It wasn’t his fault, and yet he had had to stand there quietly as the blame was cast down on him, and he had to accept it. He couldn’t afford to lose his job - he was barely getting by as it was.

And when he got home, the apartment…it was just too big. Too dark, too _quiet._ He didn’t want to be in there by himself, unable to distract himself from his own thoughts.

He knew what dark truths they could whisper to him. He knew what terrible words they could hiss. He had fought to keep them back for years.

How long had he been coming here to avoid them, without even realising? How long had he thought he was in a good place, instead of facing the reality that he had been hiding this whole time?

In one move he downed the rest of his drink and stood, slamming the glass down with a bit too much force. “I’m going to go dance,” He said to Adam and Shiro’s shocked faces before turning around and making his way into the crowd.

He had given those thoughts a chance to cloud his mind, and now they were s _creaming._ He had opened the door to peer at them and they swept forward and engulfed. Sitting at the table, at the bar – his mind was too loud to avoid. So he pushed himself further amongst the writhing bodies, elbows jabbing and wings being crushed against his back. But it was chaos, a cacophony of colour and noise, and it pushed the dark thoughts back, everything too disruptive for them to form sentences.

He can breathe here, a thought that surprises him. He closes his eyes and lets the crowd jostle him with their movements, the music’s rhythm pounding in the space between his eyes. It’s hot amongst the throng: his long fringe is already beginning to stick uncomfortably to his forehead, long strands of hair clinging to his sweaty neck.

“Let’s take a picture!”

“I’m going to the bar.”

“Ah, thank you, but I’m not interested.”

Voices swirled around him, snippets of conversation hitting him like waves in the ocean. He’s never enjoyed such turbulence before, never allowed himself to unravel into the buzz-

“Come on, just one dance.”

“No, thank you.”

Someone stepped back and hit him hard, knocking his centre of balance a second time that night. His brows furrowed, but he fought to keep from coming back to himself just yet.

“Such a tease,” A voice purred, “Come on, let’s have some fun.”

“Get your hands off of me,” A shaky voice cried, and Keith was jostled again.

“You’ll enjoy yourself-”

Keith’s eyes finally opened to the scene he couldn’t have helped from overhearing. A man’s back was pressed flush with his body, continuing to push against him as he tried to pull away from the grip on his wrist. Another man stood facing Keith, grinning confidently with long hair swaying around his face, smooth and white as silk. His arms had similar bands to Romelle’s; but where hers were delicate, swirling loops of black and yellow, this man’s were thick and orderly, uniform bands of colour printing up his forearm. Keith’s lip curled: why was it that Wasps were always looking for trouble? The man tightened his fingers and tugged the unwilling fae back towards him, other hand raising to trace his cheek-

“Hey!” Keith stepped forwards, trying to get in between the pair. The Wasp dropped the wrist in surprise, not expecting Keith’s short stature to suddenly be filling his vision. “He said he wasn’t interested. Back off.”

The Wasp’s smirk only grew, a dangerous glint in his eye, “Stay out of this, little Butterfly.”

Keith’s wings tensed against his back. “Be careful, drifter,” He warned in a low voice, “Go nurse your bruised ego somewhere else.”

The smirk turned to sullied disgust on the Wasp’s face. “I have no business with you, _glider,_ ” He spat the word like a curse. “I recommend you leave us alone before more than egos get bruised.” His words were a heavy threat, but Keith didn’t flinch under his piercing gaze.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay-” A soft voice said, drawing Keith’s gaze. He froze: a hair’s breadth away was the fae from earlier – the damselfly or dragonfly or who-knows-what-kind-of-fly was staring at him, those blue eyes wide with fear and concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“There.” The Wasp purred, making shooing motions with his hands. “Off you flutter, glider.”

Keith growled low in his throat, but the mysterious fae with a hand on his shoulder spoke over him. “I think it’s time for you to go,” He said steadily.

The Wasp blanched, smugness melting away, “Bu-”

“You heard him,” Keith said, crossing his arms. “Go bother someone else before we get the bouncers.”

The Wasp’s stoic face cracked with fury, cheeks heating to a scorching red in anger. With a final glare he turned and shoved his way through the crowd, throwing carefree dancers from his path roughly with little regard.

“Are you okay?” Keith found himself asking, turning to face the fae.

The other man’s eyes were wide, face slack with shock. “Hi, again,” He said wistfully, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“Hi,” Keith breathed, those eyes drawing him in, down and down and-

“Sorry for disturbing you. And for earlier,” The other laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes closed as he laughed, crinkling in the corners and brows forming a crease between them. “Again. Is your top okay?”

Keith was taken aback for a moment, spluttering useless words before somehow managing to form coherent sentences. “ _My top?_ That’s seriously what you’re worried about? Are _you_ okay – who was that guy? We should go talk to the bouncers.”

The fae waved him off, those blue scales up his arms glittering in the lights of the dance floor. “Don’t bother: he was just some creep, same as the rest.”

“Still-” Keith started but was derailed as his companion’s expression turned earnest.

“Thank you though,” He said softly, voice somehow still heard over the thudding bass. “I appreciate the help. Some guys just can’t take no for an answer.”

It was Keith’s turn to blush, quickly looking away in fear of embarrassing himself. “It’s fine, honestly. Just glad I could help.”

“Well we can officially sign you off for completing your good deed for the day. I’m Lance, by the way.” The fae – Lance – grinned.

“Keith,” He breathed, his voice sounding stupid in his ears. What was wrong with him?

“Well, _Keith,”_ Lance smirked, placing a hand over his heart, “May I take this moment to formally apologise for ruining your top earlier.”

“It’s black,” Keith deadpanned, gesturing to his shirt just in case Lance didn’t believe him.

Lance raised a brow. “Then I will apologise for wasting your drink-”

“It’s okay, my brother bought it.”

The fae scowled. “Then for wrecking your night-”

“It started out pretty bad.”

“Gah!” Lance cried, throwing his hands up in the air, “Well, I’m- I’m just sorry!”

Keith felt the foreign feeling of a grin cracking his face, and he caught Lance’s face grow slack as he looked at him. “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

“Praise the lord!” Lance cried, “My soul is free of guilt!”

And then, despite himself and his stoic armour, _despite_ his bad attitude and stand-offish demeanour, Keith _laughed._

It was frightening, the realisation that he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed.

It was freeing.

He calmed down and brought himself back to the conversation, but concern bloomed as he took in Lance’s face. Eyes wide, mouth gaping open like a fish as he stared at Keith with a steadfast gaze. “Are-” Keith spoke, the other boy jumping from shock before his cheeks bloomed a ferocious red, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes – fine, fine!” The other babbled, looking away quickly as that blush only grew. “I just realised, I still owe you a drink!” He stepped away quickly, leaving Keith standing alone and puzzled before he rapidly appeared. Lance looked flustered, biting at his lip. “I didn’t ask what I owe you…” He mumbled, clearly wanting to be rid of Keith at this point.

Keith stammered, unsure what he had done to scare Lance away. “I said it was fine-”

“Nope, no – no, no no, no no no no,” Lance shushed him, the words coming out his mouth hard and fast. “First I waste your drink, and THEN you have the audacity to become my knight in shining armour. I am buying you a drink,” He said with determined words, pining Keith in place with his gaze. “What do you want?”

“Whisky coke,” Keith said begrudgingly, knowing he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Double?”

“That’s not necessary-”

“A double,” Lance grinned. He turned away but paused as he caught Keith’s expression on the edge of his vision. He faced him again, a small shy smile on his lips as his eyes bore into Keith’s. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Keith nodded dumbly, head jerking up and down robotically. At this moment he didn’t care if Lance was doing all of this just to ditch him: all he could focus on was how much he trusted that Lance would keep his promise.

Pleased at the easing of Keith’s expression, Lance turned and disappeared into the crowd, expertly weaving and bobbing around dancers, those glass-like wings catching the light with iridescent shimmers.

“Who was that?” A voice suddenly said in Keith’s ear, and he yelped in fright.

He turned to find Shiro wearing his patented shit-eating grin and scowled. “What are you playing at?”

“Was just wondering where you had run off to,” He said, way too casually. “Didn’t realise you were out here making _friends_.”

That scowl didn’t shift. “Were you spying on me?”

“Adam and I were worried-”

“ _Shiro_ -!”

“He seems like a nice boy,” Shiro said, nodding in the direction Lance had taken, and something inside Keith shrivelled up with embarrassment and _died._ “What’s his name?”

“Piss off.”

“That a family name?” Shiro hummed thoughtfully. “Not sure how it will look on the wedding invitations.”

Keith buried his burning face in his hands and groaned.

*****

Lance found himself grinning.

He wasn’t sure exactly why.

How strange that a situation that had started with dread churning his stomach had turned into awkwardly chatting with Mr ‘Hawt’ himself.

The fae was just too cute: the way his face had lit up when he laughed, like he was pleasantly surprised to be found to be doing so… If Lance had died right then, he would have died happy.

He knew it was soon, but he didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to take Keith home so they could sit with cups of hot chocolate (not being big-headed, but Lance made the best hot chocolate ever) and sit and talk. Lance’s eyes had tracked over those dark wings at his back multiple times, pulled close and coloured black-but-not-quite, and wondered what kind of fae his new dance partner was. Where had he popped up from? What did he do – did he want to make out as much as Lance did?

That last question must have been the rum talking…

But he couldn’t go asking a random fae he had known for five minutes to come home with him. That would certainly give the wrong impression. So he would take a deep breath, calm his ass down, and get the guy a drink.

A spot at the bar top opened up in front of him and he stepped forwards quickly before anyone else could, his elbows being pressed in close to his side from shuffling bodies. His eyes scoured the bar, looking to catch the sight of a free bartender.

“Hello again,” A voice, slick as oil, said into his ear, close enough for their warm breath to brush against his skin. Lance couldn’t help but shiver and jerk away.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested,” He said coolly, fixing the Wasp with a disapproving look. He wouldn’t need someone else saving him this time.

The fae’s face reconfigured into something almost anguished, only there was something about it that Lance didn’t believe. Something…disingenuous. Dishonest. He tried to take a step back and keep some space between the two of them, but the bar was heaving: there was nowhere to go as the horde of bodies pressed in.

“I came to apologise,” The Wasp said, placing a hand over his heart. “I got carried away on the dance floor: I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Lance found himself saying even though he didn’t agree, but the words had slipped past before he could stop them.

The Wasp smiled with relief, eyes flashing. He held an expectant hand out between them, “I’m Lotor.”

Lance felt incredibly uncomfortable as he took Lotor’s hand and gave his name in return automatically, feeling as though social convention forbade him from doing any less. He should turn around and tell the Wasp to leave him alone, or at least to respect his personal space. But instead Lance stood dumbly, gut churning, as the Wasp pressed in closer under the pretence of chivalrous.

“So what’s a pretty bug like you doing all alone in a place like this?” Lotor smirked, lounging with an elbow on the bar like he owed the place.

“I’m not alone - I’m here with my friends,” Lance said, eyes focused on catching a bar tender’s attention. He hoped his voice sounded as frosty as he meant it to.

“Mmh,” Lotor nodded, the intensity of his gaze making Lance want to cringe back. “Well I really must pay penance for making you uncomfortable. Let me get you a drink.”

Lance began to protest, but it fell on deaf ears as Lotor pulled a twenty out and waved it to get the bar tender’s expression. The bar tender’s eyes landed on him, looking less than pleased as they asked for his order.

Lotor looked at Lance expectantly. Lance gave up on his protests: if Lotor wanted to buy a drink so badly, he could at least get Keith’s replacement.

“Whisky and coke,” He ordered. “Double.”

The bar tender’s eyes turned back to Lotor for his order. He smirked, “Same for me.” With a nod the bar tender was gone and Lotor was turning back to Lance. “You didn’t strike me as a whisky drinker.”

Lance shrugged, not wishing to let Lotor drag him into conversation. His logical side said to accept Lotor’s apology and give him a second chance – it’s what you’re supposed to do, right?

But deeper down in his core, his instincts thrashed at the idea. No – this man was a venomous snake and should not be trusted.

He kept the distance and short responses until the drinks arrived, the bar tender placing them by Lotor’s side and taking the money. Lance reached across to grab his drink so he could leave, but Lotor stopped him.

“Can I have a hug?” Lotor asked. “To show how sorry I am?”

“I’m not sure…” The mere thought of letting him touch him again filled Lance with dread.

“Please. I simply feel awful at upsetting you – I will feel terrible if I can’t properly apologise.”

Despite himself, Lance’s head was nodding in defeat – anything to get out of this situation. Lotor’s arms wrapped around him – tight and constricting – and he felt like prey trapped by a great snake. He shifted uneasily as Lotor held him close, a hand flush against his back to hold him close. That silky, white hair tickled at Lance’s nose where his face was buried in Lotor’s chest, whatever cologne he had chosen thick and cloying. With a relieved breath Lotor’s arms relaxed and Lance could step away, able to breathe in fresh air once more.

Lotor grinned and handed his drink over to him. “I’ll see you around, _Lance_.”

The way Lotor said his name made his skin break out in gooseflesh, a shudder running down his spine. He nodded and quietly muttered bye, avoiding eye contact, before disappearing away into the crowd.

He thought he would be able to breathe here, away from that daunting presence, but the dancing bodies seemed to press in tighter than before and his skin itched to be given some personal space. Nervously he absentmindedly took a large gulp from the glass in his hand, gagging at the acrid taste and remembering that it was supposed to be for Keith. Oops.

Bobbing and weaving, Lance eventually made his way back to where he had started. He caught sight of that dark, long hair and those almost-black wings and felt relief swell before he froze. Keith stood, scowling with a small smile threatening to break the harsh line of his mouth, an arm thrown across his shoulders from a breath-takingly beautiful butterfly. The butterfly had black hair with a shock of white at the front: his wings were mostly black with an iridescent shimmer of purple across them. The wing on his right had a large tear in it, the two ragged edges hanging limply.

Jealousy coiled in Lance’s gut, an unexpected feeling, and it felt as though the air simply abandoned his lungs. Disappointment was heavy in his chest as he chastised himself for reading the situation wrong. Idiot – clearly Keith was just a good guy who had seen he was in trouble and wanted to help out. Nothing more than that.

Idiot.

Reading too deeply into situations.

No wonder Nyma had ran at the first opportunity she could.

Shaking himself, he bundled all of these feelings and thoughts and pushed them down, down – way down and out of sight, plastering on his best smile and walking back over to Keith.

Keith’s eyes landed on him and he stepped away from the other man, that arm falling from his shoulders. Keith’s eyes were guilty, stressed, flicking between the two men as Lance handed the drink over.

“Here you are,” He said, that smile beginning to strain. “We’re even now.”

“Lance, this is Shiro,” Keith said, gesturing to the butterfly at his side. “He’s my-”

“I’m really sorry,” Lance cut in, his fragile and stupid heart incapable of hearing the next words out of Keith’s mouth. “But I really should get back to my friends. They must be wondering where I am.”

He wasn’t sure that he imagined how Keith’s face fell or whether it was just wishful thinking. “Oh. Okay, well – thanks for the drink.”

“Any time,” Lance waved as he backed away into the crowd and disappeared from sight.

By the time he got back to the table he was sweaty and lightheaded, desperately wanting a glass of water, a shower and his bed. In that order.

“Lance?” Hunk asked, bumping his arm. “You okay? We haven’t seen you in a while – anything interesting happen on the dance floor?”

Lance shrugged, that small movement making him dizzy as he smirked. “Fighting off the throngs of potential lovers who lay down by my feet and begged me to take them home. You know, the usual.”

Hunk gave a laugh: a short, forced thing that Lance knew was all for his benefit. “Shame I missed it.” Those soft brown eyes turned critical in an instant as he took in the look on Lance’s face. “You sure you’re okay though? You’re looking a little pale.”

Lance’s body felt shivery and light beneath his gaze. “I’m not feeling too hot,” He admitted. “I think I’ll just head back.”

“Sure,” Hunk said, beginning to stand until Lance placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That’s alright, big guy. I kind of want a little alone time in the fresh air, if that’s okay?”

“Sure thing – if you need anything let us know, okay?”

Lance nodded and stood, gripping the edge of the table as he felt woozy. “No worries, man.”

“And let us know when you get home safe.”

Lance giggled as he stepped away. “Yes, _mum_.”

It felt like it took him an age to reach the exit, and by the time he did his body was weak and trembling. He didn’t live far: five minutes from now he would be through his front door and collapsed on his bed.

He opened the door into the brisk night and stepped outside, ready to set a steady path on his shaky legs, forcing himself to focus on drawing steady breaths into his lungs. His vision swam slightly, darkness crowding the edges of his vision. With a huff, he wrapped his arms tight around himself and headed in the direction of home.

*****

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Did we scare him off?”

Keith looked at the space between the two of them, clicking the perceived situation into place. He groaned, sweeping a hand through his bangs and pushing them from his sweaty forehead. “He probably thought we were, like, a _couple_ or something.”

Shiro’s face twisted into an expression of shock. “A _what?”_

“Whatever,” Keith huffed, swirling the ice in his drink so that he would have something to look at.

“A _WHAT?”_

“Shiro,” He sighed, rolling his eyes, “You can’t be that dim.”

His brother steeled his expression, “We should go and talk to him.” He took a step forwards before Keith could grab his arm and pull him back.

“No, no _no_.” He was shaking his head furiously, the very thought of such a conversation filling him with dread. “He probably just wanted an out, Shiro. Let it lie.”

Shiro pulled his arm from him, gesturing in the direction Lance had taken. “He’s a cute guy – if the only issue is a little miscommunication, you owe it to yourself to walk over there and _try.”_

“Shiro.” Keith’s tone grew dark, dangerous. Shiro knew how those words held a threat, a warning should he push this. “Leave it alone.”

Shiro looked ready to argue for a moment but, with Keith’s dark eyes boring into him, he sighed and relaxed his position. “Your loss,” He said, shrugging with fake nonchalance. “I’m going to get a drink – you good?”

Keith mock toasted him with the drink Lance had given him, answering Shiro without words. His brother nodded and turned, walking away through the crowd and disappearing. Keith worried for a moment that he would go and talk to Lance regardless of Keith’s stance on the subject but shrugged the feelings off quickly: Shiro could be a pain, but he trusted he wouldn’t do that.

He found his eyes scanning the dancing bodies around him, letting his body absentmindedly sway to the music’s beat. Across the room he caught sight of a familiar face: Lance, slowly pushing through the crowd, making his way towards the door.

Damn – Keith must have really scared him away.

Still, he found his eyes following Lance’s progress, not sure why he was looking but not turning away all the same. Lost in thought, he brought his drink to his lips and took a sip.

The familiar bite of whisky sat on his tongue, but his nose wrinkled at the taste: at this stage, Keith was intimately familiar with the lacklustre profile of the house whisky and coke. But something was lurking beneath the whisky’s heat, something trying to masquerade itself. Keith swirled the liquid around in his mouth a moment longer, trying to pinpoint what was different.

Maybe Lance had gotten him a different type of whisky than his usual?

That bitter taste still stuck in his mouth, the lingering taste strong considering what a small sip he had taken. It wasn’t until he saw Lance again, pale and sickly, leaning heavily against the doorframe that he started to feel the first coils of suspicion in his gut.

He spat the liquid back out into the glass.

Lance stepped out into the cold night: there one moment, gone the next, as Keith stood stock still and tongued his gums in a bid to place that strange taste.

Something was wrong.

He had never tasted something like this before.

His tongue felt kind of numb where he had let the liquid sit.

He took a step forwards, concern growing, but halted in his progress as he caught sight of another familiar face disappearing out the door.

The Wasp disappeared from view, heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him, and Keith began shoving way through the crowd. The glass slipped from his fingers and smashed against the ground, shards of glass scattering across the floor as the sinister liquid spilled over the tile.

*****

Lance was shivering, wrapping his arms across his chest in a bid to warm himself. His breath burst from his lungs in silvery puffs of mist, catching in the wind and snatched from his mouth. His brain was hyper focused on keeping moving forward: one step then another, another after that, trying to keep his weak legs from buckling under his weight. He felt awful, his thoughts swimming, eyelids beginning to droop from their weight.

He hadn’t had that much to drink – he shouldn’t feel this out of it.

Maybe he couldn’t hold his drink like he used to?

In this state, this was one thought too many as the edge of his shoe caught on the uneven pavement below his feet. He stumbled, landing on his knees _hard,_ scraping his palms as they smacked against the ground. He groaned, brain too scrambled to consider trying to stand again. He could stay here – just for a moment…

“Let me help you.”

The words came to him through a fog, barely registering before hands were grabbing him and hauling him to his feet. His legs buckled under his weight and he found himself sagging into the chest of whoever was trying to help him. Strands of hair tickled at his nose, and he felt the need to sneeze at the thick scent of cologne threatening to suffocate him. He placed a hand down on the chest to push himself back so he could talk to who had helped him up.

His blood turned icy, freezing as it sloshed through the fragmented remains of his brain, capable of generating just one thought: _danger._

The Wasp grinned, slow and salacious, the peak of white teeth carnal as his eyes grazed over Lance’s face, a cat considering a mouse.

“Hello, again,” He said through those grinning teeth. Lance’s gut swirled with nausea.

He pushed against the chest, harder, trying to get some space between them, but Lotor wound firm arms around him and kept him close. Lance batted against him weakly, frustrated with his body not responding in the way he wanted it to. “Let go,” He gasped, words weakly slipping from his numb tongue.

“Come on,” Lotor ordered. “You don’t look so good – let’s get you out of the cold.” He started to walk purposefully, dragging Lance along in his hands. He began to panic, tried pushing away again.

“Help!” He tried to call, but the words were pathetically quiet even to his ear. His eyes darted around, looking for someone to help, but it only succeeded in making him even more dizzy.

“Shhh,” Lotor hushed him, arms clenching around his shoulders tight enough that Lance expected them to bruise. “It’s okay. Not far now.”

“No- no-” Lance repeated. He didn’t know what to do: didn’t know how he was supposed to get away when he could barely get one foot in front of another. Suddenly his knees buckled again and he was a dead weight against Lotor, slipping from his grasp and hitting the ground again. Lotor bent to retrieve him, and Lance somehow managed to bring his foot up and kick him in the nose. It wasn’t as hard a hit as he would have liked: still, it had the desired effect as Lotor’s head snapped back painfully.

Lance got to his knees, not trusting himself to stand, and started to crawl away – only to have firm hands wrap around his ankle and drag him back roughly. His belly scrapped against the ground where his shirt rode up, fingers scrabbling at the ground for purchase, anything, to stop him being pulled back.

Lotor twisted his ankle viciously, flipping him over as he cried out. His face was twisted in fury, blood dripping from his nose and over his lips, smearing garishly on his teeth. Eyes alight with anger, he descended and straddled Lance’s struggling form.

“Get off, get-” Lance cried before a hand slapped against his cheek, _hard._ He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the winking stars from his vision, as Lotor gripped his hair and pulled him up close.

“Stupid _bitch,”_ He growled. “If you’ve broken my nose, I’ll fucking _kill_ you.”

Lance gulped, a firm lump in his throat keeping him from crying out anymore, eyes darting around in panic as he searched for any help.

“Now, you’re going to come along with me _quietly_ ,” Lotor warned, that fisted grip in his hair like iron, “Or I will smack your head into the ground until you do. Your choice.”

Lance’s eyes were wide as saucers, feeling himself tremble as, aghast, he found tears building in his eyes. Lotor’s grin returned, “Good boy. Now, come on-”

Lotor was cut off as something large tackled him, too dark and fast for Lance to catch before both were gone. Lotor’s weight was ripped from above him and he was left alone, struggling to catch breath and blink the tears away as he heard the scuffle of a fight close to him.

Lance pushed to his elbows, trying to make out what was going on.

Lotor was pushed harshly against the wall, blood from his nose now mixing with a cut from his lip. His eyes were alight, a forearm pressed against his throat in a threat.

Keith’s face was an impassive mask, eyes cold and calculating as he sized Lotor up.

“Fucking glider-” Lotor spat, gurgling as Keith applied pressure to his throat and forced him to shut up.

“I recommend you run on home, _drifter_.” Lance shivered at Keith’s voice, emotionless and hard as steal, heavy with the weight of a threat. “Before I call you an ambulance.”

Lotor growled, low in his throat, trying to push Keith off. But it was no good: Keith wasn’t going anywhere, giving no indication that his words held a bluff.

Those dark eyes were intense and deadly, promising Lotor a world of hurt if he didn’t comply.

In a moment Lotor’s eyes were flickering away, his stance slumping back. Keith grabbed him by a jacket and flung him from the wall and away so he stumbled before managing to get his feet under him.

“Run on home now,” Keith growled, “And you’d better pray that you don’t see me again.”

Lance didn’t know if it was just the fuzziness in his head, but within a blink of the eye Lotor was gone and Keith was at his side, that emotionless mask melting away to reveal a look of concern. Those eyes, so dark and empty just a moment ago, drew him in and made him feel safe. Groggily, he found himself raising a hand up just so he could cup Keith’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Lance breathed.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, sliding an arm under Lance’s shoulders and bringing him up into a sitting position.

His head swam, vision blurring for a moment, but he managed to nod. “More or less,” He breathed, feeling his weight sag against Keith. He let it happen, mentally and physically exhausted.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Keith asked, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder. Lance focused on the pressure, the spiralling course being traced out on his skin. It was soothing. He tried to snuggle in closer, enjoying Keith’s warmth.

“Lance?”

Lance blinked slowly, sure that he should have been listening but having no idea what Keith had asked him. “Mmhh?”

“Is there anyone you want me to call? To help you get home.”

He shook his head, letting his eyes fall shut so he could simply enjoy resting against Keith. “No point, I live close by.”

Damn: you couldn’t tell by looking at him, but Keith had some serious muscle going on under his t-shirt.

“Okay...” Keith paused. “Where?”

An incessant shaking had him groaning in annoyance. “ _What_?” He whined.

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where do you stay?”

“I told you,” Lance yawned, body growing tingly and light. “Close by.”

“ _Lance_ ,” That shaking was back, but felt so distant now: far enough away to ignore. Thank god. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“’M not,” He breathed, both of them knowing it’s a lie.

“Lance-”

“You’re so warm, Keith,” He breathed, pressing his face in closer, feeling Keith’s breath still against his cheek.

By his next breath, Lance was gone, far enough away that no amount of shaking or shouting from Keith could rouse him.

*****

His head hurt.

His eyes hurt.

His body _hurt._

Lance rolled over and groaned, stomach summersaulting with the movement. He buried his face into his pillows and embraced the darkness, cursing the sun that was making it past his blinds.

He groaned again, feeling what felt like the mother of all hangovers dissolving his body down into a big mushy pile of pain. The previous evening was a blur, likely due to one too many rums, maybe a couple tequilas. He had a brief memory of the taste of whisky on his tongue, before-

Oh.

The evening came back to him: dancing with Keith, Lotor buying him a drink, collapsing on the walk home.

_Oh._

_Fuck._

He racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened out in the street – how had he gotten home?

He vaguely remembered Keith asking him where he stayed – had he managed to tell him? He didn’t think he had.

Had Keith gone back to the bar to find his friends?

Lance brought his head up, trying to ignore the pounding in his brain, and got his answer.

He wasn’t home at all.

He was in a strange bed, in a strange room, alone. He peeked beneath the covers and blushed when he found himself just in his boxers and socks: had Keith undressed him? Why in god’s name had he left him in boxers and _socks?_ Who slept with their socks on?

So many questions, too little brain power.

He pushed the blankets back and sat up, breathing through the churning of his stomach and the blood pulsing behind his eyes. A moment later he stood shakily, gripping the head board for balance.

Keith’s room – well, what he presumed was Keith’s room – was nice. A little under decorated, but nothing to scoff at. Tidy: though that was largely due to how barren the place seemed. Like Keith didn’t have time for anything that wasn’t essential. Guilt curled in Lance’s gut as he looked through drawers looking for something to cover himself with, trying to convince himself that Keith wouldn’t mind as he found a large red hoodie and pulled it on over his head.

He spied his clothes, folded neatly on his chair, and raked through his jean pockets until he found his phone. He clicked it on, glad to see it still had battery, before balking when he saw the time.

5.30pm.

What?

Had he been asleep the whole day?

He had a collection of messages and missed calls, initially just from Hunk before more and more of his friends began contacting him, all asking if he had made it home, if he was okay.

He pressed call, wanting to calm his friend after he had surely been worrying all day.

“Thank god!” Hunk cried as he answered the phone, voice frantic. “Dude I’ve been so worried – are you okay?”

Lance held the phone a short distance from his ear, brain not ready for the relieved cries of his friend. “I’m fine man. Sorry, didn’t check my phone last night.” He nibbled at his lip, not sure he wanted to explain what had happened over the phone.

“What? Man, I’ve been going crazy – I phoned the police, but they said they wouldn’t do anything for 48 hours. I wanted to phone your mum and see if you were with her but I didn’t want to worry her. I’ve-”

Lance felt awful for worrying his friend to this extent. “I’m sorry, Hunk. I…” He decided he would give him some of the truth, so that he didn’t seem like a complete dick for disappearing off the face of the earth. “I think I got spiked last night: just ended up feeling really sick. I…came home, and must have slept it off. I mean, I know I sleep late, but I’ve only just woken up.”

“What?! Lance, you should phone an ambulance!”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” He carried on, not wanting to get any further into the topic. “Honestly, I’m fine. Just a bit of a sore head.”

“Do you want me to come round?”

Lance’s eyes glanced around the room, pushing back the curtain to a view he didn’t recognise beyond the window. Where was he?

“Honestly, man, I’m okay. Really. I just really want a shower and some food right now – but I’ll catch you later?”

Hunk seemed unsure, but he wasn’t one to pry if someone didn’t want to open up. “As long as you’re okay?”

Lance grinned, touched that his friend cared so much. “I am. Sorry again for worrying you!”

“No worries! I’m just glad you’re alright. See you later.”

“Later,” Lance breathed before hanging up, watching the view a moment longer with his phone cradled to his chest. The sun was beginning to set, orange streaks starting to stretch out over clouds dotting the blue sky. It called to him, made him want to stretch his wings and feel the wind against his skin.

He sighed and let the curtain drop closed before turning and grabbing the door handle. No time like the present for facing the music.

He didn’t grasp just how small Keith’s apartment was until he had opened the bedroom door and stepped directly into the living room. From here he could see the front door, the entrance to the bathroom, the kitchen nestled in the room’s corner with a countertop trying to keep the two separate, and what looked like a rumpled crow staring at him from the couch, frozen with a spoon of cereal raised halfway to his mouth, the bowl cradled to his chest.

“Hey,” Lance said awkwardly, shuffling awkwardly on his feet and giving a small, idiotic wave.

“Hi,” Keith breathed, blinking slowly before coming back to himself and dropping the spoon back into the bowl. “How are you – uh, feeling?”

Lance nodded, letting his gaze wander the room to avoid eye contact. If the headache and sore body wasn’t going to kill him, this awkwardness certainly would. “Good. You know, considering…”

Keith nodded thoughtfully, and they both stood in silence for a minute.

“Erm…” Keith started slowly, coughing to clear his throat. “There’s, um, cereal. In the kitchen. You know, if you want any?”

Lance couldn’t contain his enthusiasm at the idea of food, shooting like a bullet to the kitchen and searching the cupboards until he came across the cereal, piling it high into the bowl. He would pay Keith back later: right now, he needed _food._

Awkwardness momentarily forgotten, he came around and collapsed on the couch beside Keith, shovelling cereal into his mouth and wolfing it down as fast as possible. Keith seemed enraptured, staring at him with those big eyes, expression unreadable as he watched Lance inhale his food.

Gone too soon, Lance settled the bowl down on the ground and leaned back into the couch, patting his belly contently: it would sate him for now. The couch was squishy, comfortable: old worn leather, creased and soft below him. He let his eyes flutter shut, relishing the feeling of his headache abating slightly.

Keith’s spoon rattled against the bowl in the silence between them, awkwardly pushing the remaining bits of cereal around the milk. He looked up several times, taking in Lance’s relaxed form, before finally summoning the courage to ask, “So, are you…okay?”

Lance thought for a long moment, actually weighing up the question and evaluating himself instead of saying what others wanted to hear. “I think so,” He said honestly.

Keith nodded to himself, not willing to push any further. “I hope it’s alright that I brought you back here,” He said, steadily growing sheepish as his cheeks burned. “I couldn’t get you to wake up and tell me where you lived, and I stayed just around the corner. So I thought it was probably best to bring you back here. Sorry.”

Lance let his head fall to the side so he could look at Keith, letting his mouth curl into a small smile. “Don’t be sorry,” He said, watching him with a soft look. “Thank you – for your help. If you hadn’t come along, I-”

“Lets not go there.” Keith cut in, placing his bowl down. He shifted and crossed his legs while leaning his back against the arm rest, rustling his wings and draping them over the edge of the couch.

“Well, thank you all the same.” Lance’s eyes dropped to the floor, taking in the discarded pile of blankets lying there. “Did you…sleep on the couch?”

Keith looked at him like he had asked a stupid question. “I wasn’t exactly going to crawl into bed with a guy who had been spiked that I barely knew.”

Lance’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment. “N-no, I mean – you should have put me on the couch, it’s not like I would have minded. You had already done enough for me – giving up your bed wasn’t necessary.”

Keith shrugged. “You perked up a little when we came in. Pulled your clothes off and collapsed on the bed.” He paused. “Not that I wouldn’t have given up my bed anyway. It’s just… you didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

Somehow Lance’s blush grew even deeper. Well, that answered the question of how he was stripped down to his boxers. And socks.

“I feel lousy,” He said, stretching his back out over the couch. Keith had to catch himself from staring at the sliver of skin that showed where the hoodie rode up around Lance’s hips. “Do you mind if I have a shower?” Lance asked. “It’s okay if you say no, I can get one at home. I just…” His voice faltered, unwilling to say the next words. That, even though he barely knew Keith, he didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to walk home by himself and enter his apartment where nothing could distract him from his anxiety ridden thoughts. Thoughts that whispered at the back of his mind, that were trying to convince him that this whole situation was his own fault.

Keith nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Be my guest – towels are in the cupboard under the sink.”

Lance nodded and left, grabbing both of their empty bowls and setting them in the sink. “Don’t even think about cleaning those,” Lance warned, “I’ll get them in a bit. It’s the least I can do.”

Before Keith could argue he was gone, bathroom door closing behind him. Well, mostly closing. Keith’s apartment served two purposes: it was somewhere to sleep, and it was cheap. Meaning it wasn’t in the best of states. At some point before he moved in, a leak had warped the bathroom door so it was impossible to fully close, always leaving a sliver of a gap.

It had never been a problem before: Keith didn’t exactly host company often.

But now, as he got up to go into his room and finally get changed, he paused. Because, through the gap, for just a moment, he caught sight of Lance as he pulled his hoodie up over his head. Dumbstruck, Keith felt hypnotised by those iridescent wings as Lance shook them out from where they had been pinned against his back. Lance stretched, sighing deeply as he cracked his back. He leaned down, assessing his bruised knees, checking his scrapped palms. They were clean: Keith had did his best to clean them when they had arrived back at the apartment.

Keith blinked and finally took note of what he was doing. Mortified, he turned away and hurried into his room, closing the door behind him and running a hand over his burning face. What was wrong with him, playing peeping tom through a door? He quietly cursed himself as he got changed, shoving on a fresh pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. He stretched out his dark wings behind him, itching to take flight now that the sun was going down.

What would it be like to fly with Lance? Did he mind the night air, the glow of evening? Keith hated flying during the day: the sun was too bright and burned his eyes, the air too hot around him. Would Lance even _want_ to fly with him?

Why was he even thinking about this – he had just met the guy, and most of their time together had involved Lance being unconscious. He was reading far too far into this situation.

Lost in thought, he jumped at the knock at his door. He opened it, finding a damp Lance standing there awkwardly with a towel around his waist. “Sorry. I… could I borrow some clothes?”

Keith felt like his brain had short circuited at the sight of a shirtless Lance, those delicate blue scales of his winding down the sides of his torso, across his collarbones. How could someone be so pretty?

An awkward cough, redirecting his attention, “Keith?”

“Oh!” He mentally shook himself, wanting the ground to open up below him. “Of course. Help yourself.” He ducked his head and pushed past Lance, escaping to the living room. No way he would survive being in the same room as Lance got changed.

What was wrong with him?!

He settled back on the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. A few minutes passed before Lance appeared again, sporting a pair of blue shorts and a white t-shirt. Keith raised an eyebrow, “Not a bit chilly for that?”

Lance shrugged, pulling his phone out and tapping away. “I tend to run hot.”

Damn right he did.

_Shut up, you dog._

“So, I’m still starving…” Lance put out between them, still scrolling through his phone.

“Oh,” Keith’s gut fell: of course he knew Lance needed to leave sometime. Still, though, it was nice having him here. “No worries - are you okay getting home?”

Lance watched him for a moment with a furrowed brow before breaking out into a grin. “That was me subtly suggesting a takeaway. On me,” he insisted. “I owe you, like, a million favours right now. Need to start paying off my debt.”

“Don’t worry about it-”

“Keith.”

“Yeah?”

“Let me buy you dinner.”

Lance grinned, his eyes so soft and endearing that Keith felt breathless for a minute. At first he could only nod, before managing to find his tongue again and say, “Sure.”

That blinding grin somehow grew even wider, Lance joining him on the couch again as the two discussed what to order. Chinese, Indian, Italian- “What about Mexican?” Keith suggested before earning an aghast inhale of breath from Lance, hand on his heart.

“Keith, my man, as a soul of Cuban blood I _refuse_ to subject my taste buds to the audacity of take-out Latin food. My mamma would kill me! Homemade, or nothing at all!”

“Okay, okay!” Keith tried to back track, “No Latin foods, got it.”

“Mmhh,” Lance pondered, “Sushi? Nigiri Heaven is pretty good-”

Keith’s gut curled at the prospect, well versed in Nigiri Heaven’s ‘cuisine’. “If you can veto take-out Mexican, I can veto take-out sushi.”

“Okay, deal.”

Deciding what to order took an absurdly long time, each having their own issues with the other’s suggestions. Eventually they decided on pizza: half spicy meat feast, half Hawaiian.

“What?” Lance said in response to Keith’s horrified expression. “Don’t tell me you can resist the delicious mix of salty ham and sweet pineapple.”

“You’re a heathen.”

“ _You_ need to open your mind to the possibilities, my dude.”

Pizza arrived and Lance paid. Box in hand, he turned to walk back inside but Keith had followed him and was pushing him so they both ended up in the hallway, closing the flat door and locking it behind them. Lance raised an eyebrow.

Keith shrugged. “I know a nice spot to eat.”

Lance nodded, trusting Keith as he walked away and headed for the stairs. Up a couple of flights and they came to a fire door with a sign reading _‘Alarmed Door. Do Not Open.’_

Lance opened his mouth to shout as Keith recklessly pressed his weight to the bar across the door and flung it open to-

Silence.

“It’s cheaper to put a sign that says ‘Alarmed Door’ instead of actually alarming the door,” Keith explained, beckoning him to come closer.

Lance opened his mouth, ready to ask what had possessed Keith to actually try out his theory, but the words stuck in his throat as he took in where they were.

He had thought the view from Keith’s bedroom was nice…

He hadn’t realised just how tall Keith’s building was: the city seemed to lie at their feet, spreading out and around them in a maze of winding streets. Everything was bathed in the burnt auburn of the evening light, the sun sitting low on the horizon. Behind him the moon was starting to rise, still weak against the fading sun. Lance lost his breath for a moment, feeling his mouth drop open at the view, wings fluttering at his back, begging him to stretch them and jump off of the edge, take to the skies and bathe in the evening’s glow.

“Wow,” He breathed, too stunned to think of anything better to say.

Keith shuffled his feet awkwardly for a moment, “Come on.” He led him closer to the building’s edge, ducking out of sight before Lance heard the click of a switch as fairy lights he hadn’t noticed sprang to life around him. There was a blanket laid out on the ground, a couple of pillows.

Lance raised an impressed eyebrow, taking initiative and settling on the blanket. “Bring all your dates here, do you?” He teased.

“Think this is a date, _do you_?” Keith challenged, and Lance dropped the subject with some stammering and blushing cheeks.

Chuckling to himself, Keith settled down across from Lance and pulled the box towards himself, flipping the lid and grabbing a slice heavily laden with toppings. Lance followed his lead, and for a moment the two sat in silence, chewing thoughtfully and taking in the view as the sun sank below the horizon.

“Man,” Lance said, as though to himself, “I would love a glass of wine right now.”

Keith pushed to stand, “I can get some from-” But was cut off as Lance laid a hand on his forearm, stilling his movements.

“It’s alright,” Lance grinned. “I would rather you stay.”

Not sure why he was now suddenly blushing, Keith looked away and snatched another slice of pizza, needing the distraction from the incredibly cute boy sitting just a few feet away.

“So…” Keith started, discarding an uneaten crust back into the pizza box and stretching out, lounging back against his elbows, “What was a bug like you doing in a bar like that last night?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “A bug like what?”

Keith paused a moment, not wishing to offend, before vaguely gesturing in his direction. “You know…”

“I’m not sure I do…”

“A drifter staying out past their bed time,” Keith tried to tease, but grew concerned that the words sounded patronising as they left his mouth. “I mean-” He stammered.

But Lance had only given him a quizzical look. “A drifter?”

“….Yeah?”

“Keith – what do you think I am?” Lance’s mouth had turned up, a teasing look in his eye.

A question Keith had spent a lot of time on. “I’m not sure, exactly – I thought a damselfly? Or maybe dragonfly?”

Lance nodded, that mouth curling into a smirk, and busied himself with his pizza once more.

“So…?” Keith prompted.

“So what?”

“So,” Keith squirmed. “What are you?”

Lance chuckled. “I would rather keep you guessing.”

Keith huffed. “I probably already got it, and you’re just winding me up.”

Those eyes sparkled with mischief. “Perhaps.”

“I bet you don’t even know what I am.” No one ever did – see some big wings and boom! You must be a butterfly. Lance wasn’t the only fae who could remain a mystery.

“I bet I do.”

“Yeah right-”

“You’re a moth, right?”

Keith’s retort died in his throat, stunned at Lance’s correct answer. His mouth opened, closed, stuck for a moment as Lance began to laugh: a soft sound, like the pealing of a bell.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lance managed to choke out around the laughter.

Keith scowled. “How the hell did you get that?”

“Because you…look, like a moth?”

A quirk of his head, “Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“No one ever manages to get it right. They all seem to think I’m a butterfly.”

“I’m going to assume that it’s usually drifters getting it wrong?”

Keith nodded. “They all seem to forget that gliders even exist.”

“Can’t argue with you,” Lance chuckled, giving up on dinner and pushing the box away from him, stretching out on his back to look up at the rapidly darkening sky.

“So, I take it you’re not a drifter then?” Keith asked.

A nod. “You would be correct. Why, do I not look the type?”

Keith decided not to answer that, just settling to hum thoughtfully. Because, truthfully? No, he would not have pegged Lance for a Nightglider. The boy was too bright, too _vibrant,_ to belong in the dark. The idea simply mystified Keith, someone like Lance hidden away in the shadows.

“If you saw me…you would have guessed instantly,” Lance says, expression forlorn as he takes in the darkening sky.

Keith raises an eyebrow, “I _can_ see you…”

Lance shakes his head slowly, eyes sad as he turns back to Keith. “Not…like this. If you saw me, before I was broken.” Lance paused to swipe the back of his hand across his damp eyes. “I was really beautiful.

_You still are._

The words are on the tip of Keith’s tongue, but he can’t let himself say them.

Instead, he asks, “What happened?”

And it’s like the flood gates open.

One question, and Lance takes off. Ready to unburden himself of his story to someone unused to his disastrous love life: how often he gets wrapped up too tightly with others and suffocates them, drives them away.

He gets to tell the story to someone who hasn’t heard it a thousand times over.

And so he tells Keith, tells him about Nyma and how hard Lance worked to get her to agree to go on a date – how he had stupidly thought that that meant they were meant to be, that she actually wanted to date him the whole time but wanted to play hard to get.

He had been too obsessed to realise that she just plain wasn’t interested in him.

“It’s not her fault,” Lance says, knowing he speaks the truth. “It really isn’t: she never lead me on, she tried to be straight up with me. I was just too engrossed in the fantasy of her, of our fairytale…”

Keith stays silent during this, nodding at appropriate moments and holding Lance’s eyes when he looks to him.

“But it doesn’t mean that it didn’t tear me apart when she cut things off with me,” He continues, drawing his knees up to his chest in a bid to make himself as small as possible. “Well, not cut me off so much as stop taking my calls and pretending I don’t exist. She basically disappeared in a puff of smoke.” He brings his hand up in a fist to his mouth, opening his fingers and making a dramatic blowing sound. “Poof: gone.”

Lance sighs. “So now I’m…like this. And I don’t know how to fix it: how to get past a girl who didn’t give two shits about me.”

Keith has no idea what he’s supposed to say: clearly Lance has finished his story and is waiting patiently for some kind of response. As he wracks his brain for something worthwhile to say, he sits on in horror as he hears his own treacherous mouth uttering the words, “Butterflies are assholes.”

Silence.

Oh _god_ what did he just say?!

Lance is staring at him with a quizzical expression.

Shit – apologise, quick.

“La-”

His breath stops as he hears laughter.

Pure, unrestrained laughter erupting from Lance’s chest. He’s mesmerised, finding his eyes tracing the lines of Lance’s face as his eyes close and his chest heaves from the force of his laugh. Keith is stuck, tongue-tied and unsure of what he said that is so funny, and waits patiently for Lance’s sanity to return.

“Wow,” Lance manages to say, breathing heavily, “I haven’t laughed like that in _ages.”_

“I’m glad I could help,” Keith says, unsure what he did but speaking the truth in his words.

Lance draws in a slow breath of the evening air, sighing loudly. “So what about you?” He asks, eyes probing Keith.

He raises an eyebrow in response, “What about me?”

“You know,” Lance turns over to lie on his stomach, placing his head in his hands and staring up at Keith. “What’s your deal? How come _you_ were in that bar last night?”

“To…drink?”

Lance rolls his eyes, “Well duh, I think I could have worked that out. But, why?”

Keith felt his defences rising up, walling him into his body and retreating from the conversation. He tried to push against the constricting forces but it was useless. He shrugs, “Why not?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the darkening sky, eyes flitting to the few stars that had appeared.

Keith felt like he was falling, being sucked down into a sharp darkness that would keep everyone away. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be saying, how he was _supposed_ to open up – did he even want to open up? Or did he just want to share his story out of guilt since Lance gave so willingly? Maybe he’s supposed to return the favour – isn’t he supposed-

He feels himself drawn from the spiral as movement catches his eye: Lance, tapping the blanket at his side and staring at him with those clear blue eyes. “Fancy joining me?”

Keith nods robotically, mouth dry as he moves to lie by Lance’s side, their arm’s pressed together in the oncoming chill of the night. Looking up at the sky, the darkness that was filled with a million colours swirling like a kaleidoscope, the light of stars so unimaginably far away managing to burn through and be _seen_ – he felt like he could breathe again, like the claws in his chest were removed and he could relax.

He’s not sure how long they lay there before it was dark enough for constellations to be seen. Lance raised a hand and pointed, tracing the line of Orion’s belt. Keith mimicked, connecting the dots of the Big Dipper.

Lepus. Perseus. The Canis Major.

“That one was always my favourite,” Lance says. “I love dogs.”

Keith finds himself smiling, “I’m more of a cat person myself.”

“Dude, you’re crazy!”

“Hey!” Keith strikes back indignantly, “You dog people are all the same. Just because I _prefer_ cats doesn’t mean I don’t like dogs!”

“Dogs are clearly the best,” Lance dictates. “If cats are so great, how come there’s no cat constellations, huh?”

Keith screws his face up in thought, before his eyes graced a familiar arrangement or stars. He draws Lance’s attention to it, connecting the dots. “What about Leo? That’s a lion – that’s like the _king_ of cats.”

Lance pauses for a moment, clearly stumped. “Damn it – you really had to use my star sign against me?”

Keith finds his head turning so his cheek rests against the blanket, dark eyes tracing Lance’s profile. “You’re a Leo?”

Lance easily mirrors his movement so that their noses are just a few centimetres from one another, pale blue eyes losing themselves in the swirl of Keith’s darkness, so like the night sky… “A July babe,” He grins. “Mama said it was just typical that I decided to be born on the hottest day of the year – apparently that didn’t make for the nicest of labours.”

Keith chuckles quietly, “So you decided to start as you meant to go on?”

“If by that you mean I started out _hot,_ then yes.”

“I was going to say annoying…”

Lance grins, eyes crinkling in their corners. “You’re a dick.”

“Yep,” Keith confirms unapologetically.

“So what’s your star sign?” Lance asks.

“You can’t see it tonight.”

“I bet I can guess.”

“I bet you can’t-” Keith says with a roll of his eyes.

“Scorpio?”

He freezes, his reaction confirming Lance’s guess. “How the _hell_ do you keep doing that?” First working out he’s a Moth, now his star sign. “What, do I have this stuff tattooed on my forehead or something? Are you a stalker?”

Lance barks out a laugh. “Not at all, I swear! It’s just…you’re totally a scorpio.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Just…” Lance shifts for a moment then rolls onto his side, bringing his arm up to rest under his cheek. The movement causes a stray hairs to fan out across his forehead and Keith feels the inexplicable urge to reach his hand forward and sweep them back. He wars with himself, unsure why he wants to do such a thing, and before he could win or lose the internal battle Lance has reached up and combed his fingers through his hair. “Like, what you did with Lotor last night – how you put yourself on the line for a guy you didn’t even know? That’s brave. And how you brought me back here, weak and defenceless, and looked after me? Faithful.”

Keith’s cheeks flamed, “Anyone would have done the same-”

“No they wouldn’t,” Lance cut in sharply. “ _Anyone_ would have decided it wasn’t their problem. But you felt that something was wrong and followed your instincts – intuitive.”

Keith was feeling uncomfortable, unable to handle such high praise.

Lance spends a moment thinking, conflicted as to whether or not he wants to say what he does next. “You’re mysterious, skilled in changing subjects to areas you’re more comfortable with when topics turn personal: you’re secretive.”

Keith blows a slow breath out his nose, eyes flicking away from Lance in guilt. A hand touches his shoulder and he jumps at the contact. “That’s not a bad thing,” Lance explains, concern furrowing his brow. “It’s just a statement: an aspect of your character. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I just…” Keith can’t take this closeness anymore. He turns his head away, letting his gaze trace up and get lost amongst the stars, where he can breathe.

“Oh jeez,” Lance breathes, fumbling his words for a minute. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it – that’s the Leo’s arrogance in me, thinking I can say shit like that.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” Keith says genuinely. “It’s just…giving me something to think about.”

The silence between them should be comfortable, but Keith can feel the waves of anxiety rippling off as Lance as he convinces himself that he said something stupid. Without knowing why Keith moves to wrap an arm around Lance’s back and pulling him close, Lance’s head resting on his chest and his hands tracing the spot where Lance’s wings sprout from his back. He feels how Lance relaxes under his soft touches, that silent confirmation that Keith isn’t upset.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you are?” Keith asks gently, still as puzzled as ever.

Lance chuckles, “I’ll tell you if you get it right.”

“Lacewing?”

“No.”

“Mosquito? Mayfly?”

“Noooope,” He says, drawing out the ‘o’ and popping the ‘p’.

Keith starts to wrack his brain for anything else he can think of that could have paned wings and glittering scales. “Erm…Scyther?”

He feels Lance still against him. “I’m pretty sure that’s a Pokemon dude…”

“No it’s not,” Keith huffs, trying to ignore his flaming cheeks.

Lance chuckles, the sound vibrating from the core of his chest into Keith’s. “It is!” That chuckle evolves into full blown laughter, Lance’s entire body jerking with movement, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

Keith scowls indignantly, “Hey-”

“ _Scyther!”_

“I just-”

“That’s too good!”

“Well if you just _told_ me-!”

“If I just told you, I wouldn’t get to experience such gems as that!” Lance’s manages to rein his laughter in. He wipes tears from his eyes, still chuckling to himself and whispering, “Scyther…” As though needing to remind himself.

Keiths huffs, and Lance pats his chest encouragingly. “Well, here’s a tip since you seem to have forgotten: I’m a _Nightglider.”_

“Oh yeah…”

“I swear if you say something like Venomoth I will lose my mind.”

Keith smirks, “If you’re _any_ kind of moth, I’ll jump straight off this roof from sheer stupidity.”

“That’s not much of a wager – you can fly.”

“Shut up.”

“Like there’s no risk involved there-”

“Shut _up-_ ”

“Like, _at all_ -”

“Oh my god,” Keith sighs good-humouredly. “Are you sure you’re not a gnat – you’re certainly annoying enough to be one!”

Lance giggles and finds himself nuzzling into Keith’s chest, leeching his heat. “It’s not your fault,” He says, his fingers rubbing soothing circles over Keith’s chest. “Remember, I’m broken. I don’t blame you for not getting it.”

Keith feels a swirl of guilt that he can’t prove Lance wrong and guess what he is, but he has to admit he’s completely at a loss. He feels his arm tightening and trying to hold Lance closer: a silent apology.

“I don’t…” Keith starts, surprising himself at what he’s about to say. It’s just…he feels so comfortable around Lance, more comfortable than he’s ever felt around anyone before. And, glancing down, he can see how Lance’s face has fallen as his eyes follow the path his fingers are lining out on Keith’s chest. So easy to talk to and upfront, yet teasing and mysterious: guess Keith isn’t the only secretive one.

He wants to try something new.

What he wants to say terrifies him.

But he has to admit, he kind of _wants_ to be terrified.

It would be better than the swirling emptiness that can so easily eclipse him…

So he takes a breath and tries again. “I don’t…know,” He starts shakily, feeling incredibly stupid. “Why I was there – at the bar.”

Lance hums against him to show he’s listening to whatever Keith wants to say to him, trying not to push him to say more than he wants to.

Keith tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, tongue like sandpaper in his dry mouth. “I just…go. I find myself there when I have nowhere else to go: when I don’t want to come home.”

“You don’t like living here?” Lance’s voice is soft, unassuming. A sooth balm over Keith’s nerves.

“It’s not the _place_ that’s the issue,” Keith tries to explain. “It’s me.

“It’s what’s in my head, all these little thought’s I can’t control: if I’m here, by myself, they run rampant.” He shrugs, shifting Lance slightly with the movement, “I just kind of got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. If I couldn’t get them to shut up, I could at least go somewhere I could ignore them.”

“A bar is as good a place as any,” Lance says.

“Plus it has alcohol,” Keith smirks.

“All hail the mighty alcohol!”

Keith feels something lighten in his chest, regardless of the weight of Lance’s head against his rib cage. In a moment of madness he finds himself raising his hand from Lance’s back to run his fingers through his hair, watching as Lance’s eyes flutter shut at the touch.

Keith feels like he has barely shared anything of worth, yet somehow feels a million times better. Like he managed to show a little piece of himself he would usually feel ashamed by, and wasn’t shunned because of it.

Lance’s eyes flutter open and comb the skies, tracing over the constellations he knows so well. Something bright in the sky catches his eye, moving through the darkness, “Is that a shooting star?”

Keith jerks as though he had fallen asleep and was just rudely woken, looking to Lance before following his gaze up to the stars. He squints his eyes and lifts his head, shifting Lance slightly against his chest and trying to get a decent look at it. “I think that’s a plane…”

“No it’s not?”

“You’re sure?”

“Plane lights flash on and off: that’s solid. It’s totally a shooting star.”

“Well,” Keith says, still unconvinced but humouring him all the same, “Better make a wish before it disappears.”

Lance turns his face towards Keith, resting his bony chin against the back of his hand. “You going to make one with me?”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirks up, “If you want me to.”

The two look apart for a moment to think, and whilst Keith is certain that what they’re looking at is _not_ a shooting star, he still takes Lance’s request seriously. Going around his head a few times, he gives up on trying to put what he wants into words. Instead he focuses on a feeling: of how he feels, right now, lying here under the stars with Lance against him. He feels safe and warm, listened to. That loneliness isn’t nipping at his core right now: his chest isn’t constricted with dark thoughts.

He wishes that this feeling lasts.

The two watch the light until it winks out of view, disappearing into the cosmos. They both find their eyes searching the heavens as though another star will appear any minute.

“What did you wish for?” Keith asks. 

“I can’t tell you.”

He finds himself huffing: “Why not?”

“Because then it won’t come true – how can you not know that?”

“You believe in that stuff?”

Lance scoffs, completely aghast, pushing up onto his elbows and glaring at Keith. He follow’s Lance’s move, pushing up to lean back against his elbows. Keith feels the loss of Lance’s weight on his chest, but can’t bring himself to care as he realises just how close to each other their two faces are. “Of course! You need to take this seriously, Keith. Otherwise how do you expect your wish to actually happen?”

“Okay, okay!” Keith smirks, conceding his defeat. “I promise to respect the rules of wishing on planes.”

“ _Stars!”_

“Stars,” Keith repeats, enjoying the way Lance’s nose wrinkles when he’s annoyed.

Lance relaxes, pouting up at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Though, I will admit it’s a real shame I can’t tell you: it was a good one.”

He raises a brow at that, “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

Keith considers a moment, “How about we do this: if your wish ever comes true, you can tell me all about it then?”

Something steels in Lance’s eye, that glint turning steadfast and determined. “You’d be willing to wait?”

Lance’s eyes are boring through him, tearing him away layer by layer, and for once in his life he feels _seen._ He suddenly grows nervous beneath that gaze as he nods, “As long as it takes.”

He almost misses it.

Almost misses that determined look flash and travel across Lance’s face.

Almost misses Lance move closer.

In a blink he almost misses everything before Lance’s lips land on his and it feels like the earth shatters beneath him.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t _think._

He just sits there stunned at the beautiful man kissing into him with his soft mouth, lips tracing his, the rough draw of stubble across his skin. He’s frozen in the minute, unsure how he got here but loving every second.

Lance pulls away and looks up, sees Keith staring at him. “I’m sorry.” He swallows uncomfortably and begins to move away, suddenly looking sheepish and defeated. “Sorry – it’s just, that was my wish. I didn’t want to keep you waiting-”

Keith panics.

He can’t have Lance move away.

Can’t have Lance disappear into the night like that star and never be seen again.

He surges forward, cupping the back of Lance’s head and pressing their lips back together, regaining enough control of his body to move this time. He winds his fingers into Lance’s hair to make sure he can’t move away again, relishing the feeling of where their bodies meet. He’s breathless and sighing, the kiss deepening as he brings his other hand around to rest on the small of Lance’s back. 

Lance is completely stricken as Keith’s mouth meets his. He knew he was taking a gamble when he kissed him: he assumed that it would go terribly, like it always did. He assumed that he would kiss Keith and drive him away, just like everyone else. He would push too hard and scare him away before he could get too close.

His brain – those thoughts – stop as Keith grabs him. He finds his hands against Keith’s chest, gripping his shirt fiercely, desperate to keep Keith here in this moment with him. He feels as though something in his chest clicks back into place, that feeling of _wrongness_ that had been plaguing his chest for weeks suddenly disappearing with just this kiss.

Behind his eyelids, Keith is _blinded._

His world lights up as he kisses Lance, sharp blue light painting them both. Keith gently pulls back, squinting his eyes and trying to get his brain to function again.

Lance is still there, with him. Everything about him is exactly the same as before.

Only…

Only now, he _shines._

Surrounding his skin is a humming blue glow, surrounding him in his own spotlight. Those glittering scales glow a darker blue, the two shades merging and reminding Keith of sunlight dancing across the ocean. If he was breathless before, now he positively feels his lungs collapsing in his chest.

Lance is staring down at himself with wonder, a relieved smile spreading across his face. His eyes flicker to Keith’s, excited eyes meeting those wide with shock.

Keith can’t think.

Lance is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen…

“You’re a firefly,” Keith practically whispers, the pieces clicking into place.

That grin of Lance’s only seems to grow, reaching out and gripping Keith’s hand. “You got it!” He confirms and shakes him, “You worked it out!”

He feels like he’s in shock: like everything around him is coated in syrup and it’s an effort to push through and pay attention to reality. He can hear his blood pulsing in his ears, how his jaw hangs slack.

That glow dims slightly as Lance looks worried. “Are you…okay?”

That moment of anxiety kick starts Keith once more as he presses forward with a primal _need_ to kiss Lance again. He hits Lance, _hard,_ their teeth clacking together as Keith sends them both careening – Lance landing on his back and Keith lying on top of him.

Keith feels his dark wings fanning out around them, shielding them both to keep this moment private. His hand braces against the ground to keep from completely crushing Lance, the other against Lance’s cheek. He kisses with desperation, like he’s lost in the desert and Lance is an oasis. Those voices in his head that shout, that he pushes away with alcohol, are s _ilent._ In Lance’s light the darkness is chased from his mind, and for a precious moment he feels _free._

One of Lance’s hands brushes one of his wings and he can’t help but shiver. They break apart for a moment, Keith still growing accustomed to how _bright_ Lance is. The way Lance is looking at him…he’s never seen anyone look at him like that. Like he’s the only thing in the whole world that matters.

“Keith…” Lance breathes, eyes wide and staring at where his hand traces Keith’s wing. “Your wings…”

“Yeah?” Keith’s eyes follow Lance’s and watch where Lance’s hand is touching him, breathes out slowly as he sees what Lance sees.

And Keith’s eyes grow wide.

Because his black wings – his boring, lacklustre black wings – are glowing where Lance’s touch falls. They burst a bright red moments before meeting Lance’s light and, together, mix into a vibrant purple.

Lance swallows with difficulty. “Did you know your wings were red?”

Keith slowly shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Keith can’t help but reply.

Lance looks back to him with wide eyes, like he can’t believe the words Keith has just said to him – like he thinks he’s lying. “You’re just saying that.” He says slowly, with suspicion, “Everyone knows that moths like bright things.”

“First of all,” Keith says, trying to sound light-hearted, “That’s a stereotype. And secondly, I said _you_ are beautiful. Not the glow of your light or your scales: _you,_ Lance, the boy who I have spent the evening eating pizza with, are beautiful.”

Lance’s eyes have grown glassy below Keith, dangerously close to tears as he bites at his trembling lip. A hand wraps around Keith’s forearm as though Lance needs to physically ground himself him the moment. “Even if I like ham and pineapple pizza?”

Keith pretends to consider for a moment before smiling down at him softly, “Even then.”

“Even if I’m more annoying than a gnat?”

“Yes,” He promises.

“Or clumsy enough to throw drinks over cute boys in bars?” He asks tentatively.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow at him, the two grinning like idiots all the while.

“Are you going to keep asking me questions,” Keith says, letting himself inch closer to whisper in Lance’s ear, “Or can I kiss you again?”

Lance’s eyes grow wide and he can’t help a small giggle, babbling like a fool, “Erm, yep – yep, that sounds good. Lets do that.”

“You’re an idiot,” Keith says with a shake of his head.

“And you’re a grumpy moth who likes shiny things,” Lance shoots back.

Keith is a hair’s breadth from Lance’s lips, anticipation coiling in his gut.

“Sue me.” Is all he can manage before his resolve breaks and he’s capturing Lance’s lips with his once again, the two of them losing themselves in flashes of blue, red and purple.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, that was a trek. When I started this project I expected it to be about 5K, but the damn thing just kept on growing.  
> This piece was inspired by writing-prompts tumblr post about a moth and a firefly falling in love (found [here](https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/180487646893/a-moth-sees-a-firefly-for-the-first-time-they) ). I highly recommend giving them a follow for those days you are struggling with writer's block. 
> 
> I just want to say as well - this isn't supposed to read like finding someone will cure your depression - with Keith, the way I view it is those voices in his head are silent because, for once, he's letting himself be happy. Being with Lance hasn't made him magically better, but he certainly will help motivate Keith to getting on the right path.
> 
> So yeah...that's that. I hope you enjoyed and I'll catch you guys later!


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